Untitled Thing
by flowerpicture
Summary: Stendan
1. Chapter 1

**A courtesy note to let you know all my fic will be deleted by the end of the week, so if there's anything you want to save, now's your chance. The fic below is just a copy of a random AFS chapter as I need content for this doc or FF might have deleted it. IT IS NOT A NEW FIC. MOST OF YOU HAVE ALREADY READ IT. Once again: I am deleting all my fic. I wanted to give notice should any of you want to save it. I'm trying to AVOID being a drama queen here. Don't really know how else to do it. Okay thanks.**

**::: :::**

**I REPEAT: THIS IS JUST A RANDOM CHAPTER OF AFS WHICH MOST OF YOU HAVE ALREADY READ.**

—_pain, so much pain, shredding through his skin, sizzling, the smell of melting flesh and the screaming in his head, the piercing wail of agony, his own, breathless, desperate, help me, please, I don't want to die like this—_

Ste woke up with a start, chest tight, legs and arms and whole body shaking, trembling. He'd soaked the sheets through again, his pillows, sweat and tears. He could still hear the sound of his own scream ringing in his ears, echoing, haunting him. He got up and fell straight into the shower.

It didn't happen very often anymore, but it never left him. Would never leave him.

He took an extra pill that morning, just to be safe.

By the time he got to work, the tablets had worked their magic and he entered the unit smiling, thinking about what he was going to say to Brendan when he called him. Because he had to call him, had to explain. He wasn't going on a date with someone else. There was no one.

"Morning," Doug said, already there, like he always was. He gave Ste an appraising look. "You look bright this morning."

"I'm gonna call Brendan," Ste said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Ste, wait—"

His phone rang, and he and Doug both stared at it dumbly for a moment. "It's him," Ste said, and answered. "Hello?"

"Did you think you were getting rid of me that easily, Steven?" Brendan drawled, playful.

Ste grinned. "Look, about Friday. It's only Doug, innit. I just forgot I'd already asked him—"

Doug scowled and turned back to whatever he had been doing.

"It's fine," Brendan said, and the way he wrapped his mouth around the word made it sound like 'foine', smooth and sexy. "What are you doing for lunch today?"

"You're keen," Ste said, laughing a little, a frisson of excitement coiling in his belly.

"I don't like wasting time." Brendan's words were measured, carefully selected. "So what are you doing?"

"Seeing you, obviously," Ste said with another grin.

"Obviously."

They agreed to meet at one o'clock at a bistro farther along the high street, and Ste hung up feeling giddy and nervous and like he wanted to start talking about Brendan, ramble on about him, anything he could think of. But he didn't; instead he waited for Doug to speak first.

"So you're seeing him today?" He didn't sound annoyed, but he looked it. Back stiff, eyebrows drawn.

"Yeah, lunch. Is that okay? You don't need me here, do you?"

"No…" Doug sighed, turned to face Ste properly. "I just. I don't know if you're ready for this, Ste."

Ste's mood darkened instantly. "I'm fine. It's just lunch."

"But—"

"I said I'm fine, Doug. Don't nag."

Doug raised his hands, surrendering, but he spent the next hour shooting Ste troubled looks, which Ste point-blank ignored.

::: :::

Mitzeee was grinning at her phone. It made Brendan suspicious. Even more suspicious when she started blushing.

Mitzeee didn't blush. She was the ultimate alpha female. She made grown men blush. And quiver and swoon and fall at her feet. Even he'd been in danger of it on occasion. Girl knew how to work a man to her advantage.

He sauntered over to her, leaned his elbow against the bar beside where she sat. Stared at her face, tried to catch a glance of her phone.

"Mind your own," she said, tilting the phone out of his eyeline.

He raised his eyebrows. "So it's all right for you to know every detail of my life."

"Your life would fall apart without me and you know it."

"Debateable," he murmured, although she was probably half right. He watched her tapping away on her phone, the curiosity clawing at him. "I'll be gone for a couple of hours this afternoon."

"Hot date?" she asked vaguely, distracted.

He smirked. "Mind your own."

"Whatever," she said, hopping down off the bar stool. "I need the night off."

"What for?"

She shot him a cheeky look. "You're not the only one with a love life, sunshine."

"Hey," he said, following her as she wandered off. He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her and turn her around. "You seeing someone?"

She considered him. "I might be."

"Who?"

"Never you mind," she said, tapping him on the nose. "You don't know him."

He stopped her from walking off again, grabbed her wrist. She sighed and looked at him with impatience.

"Is he… He's a decent guy, yeah?"

"Well that's what I'll be finding out tonight, isn't it?" She patted his cheek and broke away from his hold, walked away. "I'm not in the market for a protective big brother, Brendan," she shot over her shoulder.

"Just be careful!"

He worried about her. He had no idea why—she was more than capable of looking after herself. But she attracted a lot of attention, and not always the best kind. It only took one psycho…

Not his problem. Not right now, anyway. He had his own business to deal with.

Not that Steven was _business._

He went home a while later, looking to shower and change out of his suit and into something less formal. He didn't want Steven to always think of him as the suited-up businessman. There was another side to him, the side that could take Steven to lunch and ask him about his day and kiss him, perhaps, if the moment was right. He just had to remember how to switch off the work mode.

He entered his apartment to find a sight he'd rather not see. Declan, enthusiastically necking with his latest girlfriend. Right across the couch, the couch Brendan sat on and ate his dinner on and put his feet up on after a long night at work.

"Jesus," he said, making sure to shut the front door hard enough behind him that Declan and the girl sprang apart, panting and embarrassed. Fortunately they were both fully dressed, although the girl did have a rather large and unpleasant red mark on her neck, resembling the shape of his son's mouth.

"You serious, Deccy? Why aren't you at college?"

"Home for lunch," Declan muttered, looking anywhere but at Brendan. The girl was almost purple with embarrassment, huddled in the corner of the couch, gaze firmly on the floor.

Brendan dropped his keys on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. "You've got a bedroom for this kind of thing," he said, because it wasn't that he was against his son getting his kicks, not really, he was old enough now—Brendan just didn't want to ever see it.

The girl let out the tiniest meep.

"Jesus, Dad, shut up," Declan said. "Why are _you_ here?"

Brendan snorted. "Right, try that again when you're paying the mortgage." He hung his jacket over the back of one of the dining chairs and crossed the room, glaring at them enough to make Declan squirm and the girl to go from purple to deathly pale at an alarming rate. "I'm getting a shower. Try to behave yourselves."

"What, why?" Declan asked, scrambling off the couch and catching his dad by the door. "Why are you showering in the middle of the day? What's going on?" He gave Brendan an assessing look.

"Not that I have to explain myself to my teenage delinquent of a son," Brendan said, sighing, "but I'm meeting someone for lunch."

A grin spread across Declan's face. "Meeting someone as in…a date?"

Brendan scowled, opened the door. "None of your business, kid."

"It is, isn't it?" Declan followed him into the hallway and trailed him all the way to the bathroom door, voice full of barely suppressed glee. "You've got a date!"

"Shut up, Declan."

Declan crowed with laughter. "It's about damn time, old man. I was starting to think you were, like…deficient or something."

Brendan slammed the bathroom door on his smirking face.

After he'd showered and preened and got dressed again, he tapped on some aftershave and looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes, on dark days, he didn't like what he saw, the man staring back at him. Other times, like today, he could look himself in the eye and smile, and mean it, and assess his own looks. He wasn't blind to his own appeal.

"Dad," Declan said, knocking on the door. "Warren's here."

Brendan sighed. Warren was always here. In sentimental moments, Brendan might call him his best friend. Most times he was the pain in the arse who never left. He owned a club a few streets over—technically competition for Brendan, but different clientele, so the issue never really came up. But the club's proximity to Brendan's apartment meant Warren took full advantage of his visitation rights, rights that Brendan had been tempted to revoke many times.

Brendan left the bedroom, busy securing his watch around his wrist as he entered the kitchen to find Warren helping himself to his biscuit jar. "S'up, Foxy?"

Warren shrugged. "Nothing. Bored. What're you up to?"

"Got a lunch meeting." It wasn't that Brendan didn't trust Warren with the details of his personal life—he just didn't want to deal with having the piss taken out of him.

"Boring," Warren remarked, nibbling on a digestive. "How's your Mitzeee?"

"Seeing someone."

"What? Since when?" He didn't look happy with the information. Brendan knew he wouldn't.

"Since, I don't know, half an hour ago I guess. Forget it," he said, dipping his own hand in the jar, looking for a chocolate bourbon. "We still on for poker this weekend?"

"Yeah, if you fancy me cleaning you out again."

Brendan snorted. "Last time that happened was the spring of oh-four and I was wasted on that knock-off tequila you were flogging."

"Whatever," said Warren, going for a garibaldi now. "Make us a cuppa."

"Can't. Leaving."

Warren tutted. "What am I meant to do now?"

"Jog on," said Brendan, flashing his teeth.

Declan edged into the kitchen. "We're heading back to college now. Can I have some money for the bus?"

"I'll give you a lift," Warren said, grabbing one last biscuit before closing the jar.

"Thanks. Dad, money," Declan prompted, hand out.

Brendan raised his eyebrows at Declan sceptically. "He just said he's giving you a lift."

"Yeah," Declan said, impatience in his tone, "but I still want money."

Brendan sighed and reached for his wallet. "Bleed me dry, you will," he said, slapping a tenner onto Declan's palm.

Warren held up a hand. "Where's mine?"

"You can swivel for it."

Declan grinned at them both. "Did Dad tell you he's got a lunch date?" Then he ducked out of the kitchen, the little prick.

"What's this?" Warren asked, obviously delighted by this information.

Brendan tucked his wallet back into this pocket, his stomach squirming. "It's nothing, keep your nose out."

"Hey," Warren said, nudging his arm. "Call me after, yeah? Let me know how it goes."

"I know," said Brendan with fake cheer. "Let's have a sleepover. We can wear face masks and plait our hair and—"

"Talk about boys," Warren said, grinning. "Seriously, mate. I'm pleased for you." He pointed at Brendan's crotch. "I thought that thing had shrivelled up and fallen off by now."

"I've never been celibate, Foxy."

Declan poked his head back into the kitchen, said, "We're gonna be late."

"All right, keep your tits on," Warren told him. "Brady," he said to Brendan, smirking. "Make me proud." Then he winked and left.

Brendan groaned into the sudden silence of the kitchen.

::: :::

"Are you sure I can't get you anything while you're waiting?" the waiter asked Ste for the second time. He was grinning at him expectantly. Kind of good looking, in that young, twinkish kind of way. Not Ste's type at all, but he could see an appeal.

"It's not that he's late," he said awkwardly, feeling the need to explain himself. He didn't like the idea of anyone thinking he'd been stood up. "I'm just early."

"Right, okay…" The waiter nodded. "Just give me a shout if you change your mind." He didn't look convinced.

Ste checked the time on his phone again. Why had he arrived so early? He'd had some idea about traffic, finding a table during the lunchtime rush, not keeping Brendan waiting. Only now he'd been sat here for fifteen minutes, and Brendan still had another five before he was due to arrive.

He contemplated leaving the restaurant and coming back a few minutes past one o'clock, some attempt to not look desperate. But the idea was taken out of his hands when Brendan entered, looking around for him. It was the first time Ste had seen him out of his suit—he wore black jeans, a long-sleeved black top bunched at the forearms just below his elbows, the collar a small, dipping vee. A chain hung around his neck, the cross lying against his chest, and he was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses which he removed when he spotted Ste, tucked them onto the neck of his top.

"Hey," he said when he reached the table. He pulled out the chair and sat down. "You been waiting long?"

"No," Ste lied.

Brendan was placed perfectly in front of the window, sunlight spilling over him, highlighting his eyes and the cut of his jaw. He really was a good-looking man. Ste would have been able to see that even if he'd been straight. He couldn't fathom why he was still single. Men like Brendan didn't stay off the market for long.

He might ask him, one day. If this went that far.

"I haven't got long," Ste said, watching Brendan reach for a menu. "I've got a delivery coming at two and Doug's had to go meet a client."

Brendan glanced at his watch. "An hour."

Well, forty-five minutes, really. He needed time to drive back to the unit.

"Better order quick then," Brendan said, looking around for a waiter. "D'you know what you're having?"

He'd had plenty of time to study the menu, although he wasn't going to admit that—he grabbed a menu and scanned the dishes, made himself look as though he was trying to decide. "Just a salad, I think."

Brendan raised an eyebrow at him.

Ste laughed. "All right, fine, I'll have the burger."

"Good lad," Brendan said. "Wine?"

"Uh…"

"Live a little," Brendan said, eyes twinkling. When Ste smiled and nodded, he opened the wine menu, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Ste stared at him, didn't even care what wine he ended up drinking. Just wanted to sit there and look at Brendan a while, learn the lines and angles of his face. "Hey, excuse me," Brendan said, startling Ste out of his reverie. Brendan was beckoning the waiter over.

"Yes, gentleman, what can I get you?" He poised his pen over the pad.

"A bottle of the sauvignon blanc," Brendan said, "and—"

"Brendan!" said the waiter suddenly. Both Ste and Brendan looked up at him in surprise. The waiter was gazing at Brendan with recognition.

Brendan's eyes widened. "Uh, hey…"

"Daniel."

"Daniel, right." Brendan gave a tight smile. "Didn't know you worked here," he said, his tone weird, glancing at Ste briefly.

"Just started a couple of weeks ago." Daniel, the waiter, had an edge of excitement in his voice. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Well I'm a busy man."

Daniel cut a look at Ste then, something darker filtering into his eyes. "I can see that."

"This is nice," Brendan said. He sounded a little manic. "Nice catch-up. Can we order?"

"Yep," Daniel said, snappish. He put his pen to pad, no longer smiling. "Go for it."

He left, glowering, after they ordered, and Brendan breathed out, looking at Ste awkwardly.

"It's all right," Ste said, feeling uneasy. "I get it."

"Get what?" Brendan tapped his hand against the table. He looked as though he wanted to escape.

"You and him. You had a thing."

Brendan huffed a weird, strained laugh. "Nah. Nah. It wasn't a thing. It was—" He stopped, shook his head, leaned forward to get closer to Ste. "Look, I honestly had no idea he worked here. I wouldn't have suggested—"

"I said it's fine," Ste repeated, and he supposed it was. Naturally Brendan was going to have a past, other men, people he'd been with and been close to. Ste was nowhere near in any position to take offence, and he didn't really want to. So far, to him, Brendan was just a guy. He wasn't putting any weight on this. He wasn't that stupid.

"Forget him." Brendan visibly shook it off, rolled his shoulders, hitched a smile onto his face and stayed leaning forward, forearms on the table, hands clasped in the middle, inches from Ste's own. Ste presumed that from an outsider's perspective, this would look quite intimate. It relaxed him and he returned Brendan's smile.

"So," Ste said, feeling bolder now, back to his usual self. "You've got me here."

"Could've done with more than an hour, though."

Ste grimaced. "Yeah, sorry. Not the most ideal first date, is it?" He said it without thinking, and now he flinched, internally, waiting for Brendan to brush it off, laugh maybe. _This isn't a date, Steven, it's just lunch_.

"We'll make the most of it," Brendan murmured, his smile curling into something promising.

Warmth pooled in Ste's stomach. Then a bottle of wine plonked down on the table beside him. Daniel was back.

"This one, sir?" he asked, showing Brendan the label, giving him a sassy scowl as he did so.

"It's fine, just pour it."

They really should have gone somewhere else as soon as Brendan realised who Daniel was. It would have saved all the awkwardness Daniel was determined to spill over them.

Daniel did as instructed, pouring into both glasses, not even apologising when he spilt a little. "Your food will be out shortly. Enjoy, _sir_." It was like Ste didn't really exist.

Ste gave an uncomfortable laugh once Daniel left. "He's really not happy with you, is he? What d'you do?"

"Nothing." He smiled mirthlessly. "Maybe that's the problem."

Ste didn't entirely believe him, but he wasn't going to push it.

"Just forget he's there," Brendan said. He extended a finger from his clasped hands and brushed it ever so briefly against the back of Ste's knuckle. "Tell me something about yourself, Steven."

Ste laughed. "Is this an interview?"

"I'm interested." He took his glass and tapped it against Ste's. "Humour me," he said before taking a sip.

"All right, well…" God, why did he have to be so uninteresting? He couldn't think of anything to say, nothing that would make him sound exciting in any way. "Uh…well I'm from Manchester, originally."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Brendan said, smiling. "What brought you down here?"

Ste shrugged. "I dunno really. Just left home, wanted to get away." He wasn't prepared to go into any more detail. Brendan didn't push it.

"And you've always been into cooking?"

"Yeah, kind of, I guess. I was more into knocking about and getting into trouble, back in the day."

Brendan smirked. "Weren't we all."

"I've got kids," Ste blurted, then felt himself colour instantly. Brendan raised his eyebrows—clearly, he hadn't been expecting that. "I thought… I thought you should know," he added lamely.

When Brendan didn't say anything, Ste couldn't help but ramble on.

"They're only young, mind. Boy and a girl. I see them a couple of times a month." He took his glass, needed something to do with his hands. "They live with their mum in Manchester."

Brendan stared at him, stroking the side of his glass with his finger. "I've got two boys," he said. "Declan, the oldest, lives here with me. He's going to college over here. Paddy still lives with my wife in Ireland."

Ste swallowed. "Wife?"

"Ex-wife," Brendan clarified. Then he smiled. "You weren't the only one who took a while to figure things out."

They had this in common, at least. It wasn't that Ste had been particularly worried, not this early, but there was truth in it. He and Brendan couldn't have been more different. Except this. They had this now. And maybe that meant they'd have something else.

He took a sip of his drink, holding Brendan's gaze over the rim of his glass.

Brendan's phone started ringing. He tutted, irritated, and pulled it out of his pocket. Ste got the impression not too many people bothered Brendan when he was busy.

"Ah, I have to take this actually," he said, looking at the screen. "Give me two minutes?"

Ste nodded, watched Brendan leave, head outside to take the call. He planned to spend the two minutes daydreaming about what he and Brendan might do together later, or tomorrow, or any other day—only Daniel, the ever-present waiter, had other ideas.

"Your burger," he said, dropping the plate none-too-gracefully in front of Ste, then Brendan's plate opposite. "Enjoy."

"Wait," Ste said, catching the edge of Daniel's sleeve before he could leave.

He had no idea what compelled him, why he thought this was a good idea. But if he ever wanted to find out something about Brendan, and not from Brendan himself, then this was his best chance right now. It wasn't as though he could march into the wine bar and start interrogating Mitzeee.

"Can I help you with something else?" Daniel asked, staring pointedly at Ste's hold on his sleeve until Ste snatched his hand away, embarrassed.

"Sorry, I just—you and Brendan."

Daniel narrowed his eyes. "What about me and Brendan?"

"I know this awkward," Ste said, swallowing. "I swear I had no idea—I mean, this is my first time out with him."

Something like understanding, and the hard glint of something worrying, filtered into Daniel's eyes. "Ah," he said, and he didn't seem so annoyed with Ste now.

"What?"

Daniel considered him. Then, glancing around, he perched on the edge of Brendan's seat, leaning forward conspiratorially. "This is what he does," he said in a hushed voice. "It's what he did to me and all the others before. He's got form for it. All you have to do is ask around about his reputation…"

"What do you mean?" Ste asked, although he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"He takes you out on a small date," Daniel said. "Then he gets you over to his place for dinner. And then you…"

"Fuck?" Ste prompted frankly.

Daniel nodded. "Yeah. And you never hear from him again." He huffed, rolled his eyes. "Thought I was different. Felt different. Like he was really interested." Giving Ste a stern, sideways look, he added, "He never is. Not really."

Ste licked his lips, glanced at the door as it opened. It wasn't Brendan, but some elderly couple.

"Look, I have to get back to work," Daniel said, getting up. He smiled awkwardly at Ste. "I didn't mean to bring you on a downer. But, well"—he shrugged—"you did ask."

Ste didn't, not really, but he got the point.

He had another minute to think things over, and he came to one conclusion: it didn't matter. Not now. Who knew what Brendan's intentions were? For all Ste knew, and for all Daniel knew, Ste really _was_ different. Brendan was certainly taking a lot of interest for someone planning to fuck and run.

But then, that was how he probably made them all feel special, like they were the one to break Brendan of this habit, to make a go of it. Why should Ste be any different? There was nothing special about him. Nothing that would make him stand out from the rest.

Or was there? Ste glanced at Daniel across the restaurant. Brendan definitely had a type—young, slim, blond. Ste fell right into line. Right now, he was Daniel MK2. Or maybe they were all versions of the same ideal in Brendan's eyes.

Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing. This was just a lunch date, and he should enjoy it for what it was.

It wasn't as if he had any intentions of falling for the man.

::: :::

Brendan went back into the restaurant to find his food on the table and Steven smiling at him, all golden skin and white teeth and the ability to knock the wind out of Brendan's chest with one look.

"I didn't want to start without ya," Steven said. "But hurry up, it's getting cold."

Brendan sat down, unwrapped his knife and fork from the napkin. "Sorry about that. It was my business manager. He sulks if I don't answer."

Steven raised an eyebrow, dumping half a bottle of ketchup over his chips. "Problem?"

"No. No. Just—" He hesitated, on the verge of withholding such private information. Then he took the salt Steven offered him and smiled. "There's this other wine bar on the opposite side of town. The owner's looking to sell up and emigrate." He stuck a chip in his mouth and spoke as he chewed. "Thinking of buying it."

"Really?" Ste said, attempting to get a good grip on the giant burger. "Will you have time to run another bar?"

"There's always time for work, Steven," Brendan said, the words tasting dry in his mouth.

They didn't get much talking done while attempting to make their way through the giant burgers and mountain of chips in the twenty or so minutes they had remaining. Brendan managed to ask Steven a little more about his business—he did all the cooking, hated paperwork—and Steven teasingly pressed him on his relationship with Mitzeee, to which Brendan confirmed unequivocally that yes, Mitzeee was a stunning woman, but no, he'd never dipped his pen in that particular company inkwell. It looked as though Steven wanted to ask what _other _company inkwells he'd dipped in, but he refrained, and the conversation moved on.

After, following a mini argument about paying the cheque—"Put your money away, Steven, you're gonna insult me now"—they stepped out together onto the street and came to a stop by the restaurant entrance, looking at each other.

"So—" Steven said, but was abruptly interrupted by a woman knocking into his side and nearly sending him flying.

"Sorry, sorry," the woman gushed as Brendan helped steady Steven. "Blind as the day as I was born—Ste! Oh my goodness!"

Steven blinked at her, and then, weirdly, burned instantly red. "Hi, Gloria."

It seemed this was the day for awkward encounters on all sides.

The woman—Gloria, apparently—was nearing middle-aged, wearing a nurse's uniform, and looking at Ste in wonderment. "I can't believe—how _are_ you?"

"I'm fine," Ste muttered, clearly highly uncomfortable. Brendan frowned at him, at Gloria. "I'm fine. I can't stop, sorry."

"No, wait," Gloria said desperately, stopping Steven from moving on. "I just haven't seen you for so long. How are—I mean, you look so much better, love. So much better."

"Thanks," said Steven. He gave Brendan a guarded glance. "I really have to go, Gloria, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, okay." A crease developed between her eyebrows. "But you'll come see me soon, yes? I mean, you really shouldn't have stopped—"

"Maybe, yeah," Steven said in a rush. He took the hem of Brendan's top between his fingers and gave a light tug. "C'mon, let's go."

Brendan offered Gloria a smile as Ste led him away, down the street, until they came to a stop outside a book shop.

"Steven—"

"So I had a nice time," Steven said loudly, overly bright, rounding on him and smiling. "Maybe we can do it again."

"Steven, listen—"

"It's fine, Brendan," Steven said, his tone darkening. "Don't worry about it." _It's none of your business_.

Brendan could leave it. For now. But he already knew it was going to play on his mind, that look of panic Steven had had in his eyes when he recognised the woman, the way he had looked at Brendan, tried to get away from the situation. Something wasn't right.

Steven took his phone and looked at the screen. "I really have to get going. I'm gonna be late for that delivery."

"Okay," Brendan said, nodding, trying to brush aside his concern. "Can I drive you back?"

Steven pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Brought me own car, didn't I?" He stepped closer, touched Brendan's hip with the tips of his fingers, the lightest of contact. "I had a really nice time though," he said, eyes brighter now, looking up at Brendan.

Brendan wanted to kiss him, wanted to lean forward and press his lips to Steven's and discover Steven's taste, if only for a moment. But they were in the middle of the high street during the lunch time rush, dozens if not hundreds of people walking past them, up and down the street, in and out the shops, hurried and flustered and no, not the ideal location for a first kiss, not by any stretch of the imagination. Steven looked as if he'd come to the same conclusion. He gave a soft smile and stepped back, rolling his eyes a little.

"I'm busy for the next couple of days," Brendan said, "but why don't you come to mine on Sunday evening? I'll make you dinner."

It was like someone had switched off the light. Steven's eyes clouded over, his face shifting into something dark. "Dinner at yours."

"Yeah…" Brendan said, uncertain now.

"I can't," Steven said, stepping off the curb and into the road. "I'm busy." He raised his hand, a half-hearted wave. "I'll call you though."

"Steven—" said Brendan, confused, moving to follow him. But Steven was already on the other side of the road, lunch time traffic separating them.

"Thanks for lunch!" Steven called over to him. Then he disappeared into the crowd.


	2. Chapter 2

**I just thought I should let you know (for those of you who don't follow me on twitter) that the fic is staying and so am I. And I want to say a MASSIVE thank you for all the messages. I can't even put into words how it made me feel and I am eternally grateful to all of you. You really helped put things into perspective for me and I owe each and every one of you so much fic now. :D Also I'm back on tumblr for those of you who were sending me fic requests (and I'm sorry for just cutting that off). Same tumblr name/address. :)**

**ONCE AGAIN THIS IS JUST A RANDOM CHAPTER OF AFS THAT MOST OF YOU HAVE READ. I just wanted to respond to everyone who left me messages and this was the only way I could ensure I'd reach you all because I don't know how many of you follow my twitter. **

**I really need to stop breaking FF's rules before I'm kicked off the site…**

**And I'll try not to have any more meltdowns. :p**

::: :::

A part of Ste wasn't surprised to find Brendan coming out of the bistro. He'd followed Brendan from the gardens, but he'd lost him in the high street crowds, and instinct had him walking this way rather than back to his car. His instinct hadn't been wrong.

But Ste, apparently, was the last thing Brendan had expected to see. He froze just outside the door, staring at Ste with alarm in his eyes.

"Came to get your story straight with him, did you?" Ste asked, his tone cutting.

"Steven—" Brendan said heavily. He rubbed his forehead, face tilted forward, frustration written into every line of his bones.

It gave Ste a vicious thrill of satisfaction.

"Hope you had a nice chat. What is it—pissed off he ruined your little plan?"

Brendan dropped his hand from his forehead and gave Ste a levelled look. "All right, yeah. You want the truth? Yes, I came here to confront him about what he told you. The rumours he's spreading." He raised his arms at his sides. "Happy?"

"Rumours?" Ste asked, tension coiling up his spine. "Or lies?"

"Does it matter now?" Brendan took a step closer, dropped his voice to a low growl, eyes glinting dark and sharp. "I already told you I won't be wasting your time anymore. So what's your problem?"

"You're not wasting my time!" Ste exploded. He didn't care who heard him, who witnessed this. He was damn well going to speak his mind. "I only wanted you to say you weren't just after a quick fuck!"

The last word seemed to echo around them and silence descended. Ste could no longer hear the hustle and bustle of the high street, the traffic; all he was aware of now was Brendan, and the unreadable expression on his face.

"I wasn't," he said, tone flat, giving nothing away. Ste still had no idea what he was dealing with here, and he'd had just about enough.

"You know what, this is mad, this is. I've known you less than a week and already we're at each other's throats. That's gotta be some kind of record." His chest was getting tight, breath shortening, and something hot and thick was building in his gut, the darkening of Brendan's eyes setting his pulse racing. "I mean you have to ask, don't you, why we keep arguing—"

Brendan surged forward so suddenly it snatched Ste's breath away. He had no time to react—Brendan curled a hand around the side of his neck, his thumb bracketing his ear, fingers digging into his hair at the back of his head—and then his lips were on Ste's, closed-mouthed but bruising, pulling him in and holding him there and Ste couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't focus on anything other than the lips against his own, the hand against his skin, and he tipped forward almost, wanting to touch but didn't, frozen—

And then the kiss broke, Brendan separating their lips but not moving away, tilting his face so he could rest their foreheads together, eyes downcast on Ste's lips, hand still holding him tightly.

Ste still had not taken a breath.

"That's why," Brendan purred against his mouth, voice thick and tight, and Ste understood it instantly. _This is what they call a spark._

"Get back to me when you've figured out what you want, Steven," Brendan muttered, and parted his lips, bringing his mouth forward again, looking to kiss, Ste's heart thrumming with anticipation—but no contact, nothing, just Brendan squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and then breaking away, stepping back.

He disappeared into the crowd before Ste thought to move.

::: :::

Brendan burst into the bar and leaned back against the door, smacking the back of his head against it as he stopped, breathing deep, eyes shut.

Fuck.

He couldn't get the heat pulsing through his veins under control. And he had no time to figure out what was going through his own head—the door knocked against his back, someone trying to get in, and Brendan huffed, not in the mood right now for Mitzeee's questions, or a delivery, or whoever the fuck it was.

But then the pushing on the door turned into loud, insistent knocking, impossible to ignore. Grumbling in irritation, Brendan shoved away from the door and turned, opened it.

Steven. And he looked furious.

"Who do you think you are, eh?" he demanded, stomping past Brendan and into the bar. Brendan stared after him, too surprised to answer. As soon as he'd walked away from Steven, he'd half assumed he would never see him again. But here he was, spitting feathers, eyes bright with anger, with _passion_. "With your surprise kiss and your brooding and your storming off into the night—"

"It's the middle of the day, Steven."

"Whatever!"

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Mitzeee poke her head out of the office, investigating the noise. Brendan shook his head at her and she raised her eyebrows, slinking back and out of sight.

He looked at Steven, at his tense jaw and flushed face. "You're angry with me."

"Too right I'm angry with you! You don't get to just—just _do_ that and then disappear."

"What else did you want me to do?" Brendan asked. He figured it was a fair question, one he desperately wanted the answer to. Did Steven want more? Did he want none of it at all? "I thought you might need space."

Steven snorted. "Space. Right." He took a step forward. Brendan need only lean forward a little and he could have kissed him again. He resisted, painfully. "What I need is for you to be open with me."

"I thought I had been," Brendan said quietly. His eyes kept darting to Steven's mouth.

Steven had noticed. He swallowed, and Brendan watched, with a thrill of desire, as Steven's gaze drifted down to his own mouth in return.

"I've made my intentions perfectly clear."

"To fuck and run?" Steven asked, voice barely above a whisper. There was no conviction in his words.

"No." Brendan licked his bottom lip. Steven followed the motion. His eyes had glazed over. "And you damn well know it."

Steven leaned forward, eyes intent on Brendan's mouth, his own lips parting—and Brendan braced himself for it, for a real kiss this time, for a taste of him, pulse kicking up a gear, tilting his head to the side and opening his mouth a little, eyes drifting shut—

Then Steven stopped, centimetres from Brendan, so close he could taste Steven's breath on his tongue. And just as Brendan was about to close the gap himself, Steven stepped away, cheeks burning red.

Brendan stared at him, itching, desperate. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Steven said, shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed. "I—"

"Kiss me if you wanna kiss me, Steven." He couldn't understand what had happened.

Steven huffed a laugh. "Moment's passed now, innit."

Brendan didn't even know there had been a moment before Steven had leaned in, but he wanted it back. He tilted his head, considering him. "I didn't put you down as shy."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Steven said, a curious heaviness to his tone.

"That's what I've been trying to change," Brendan pointed out. "Look, Steven—"

Steven's phone rang, but he didn't reach for it in his pocket. He grimaced. "It'll be Doug. He's been ringing to see why I'm not back at work yet."

"Go then," Brendan said once the ringing stopped. "Wouldn't want you getting in trouble with the boss."

Steven scowled. "He's not my boss." He got his phone out then and Brendan watched him type a message, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. It made Brendan feel strangely fond, but he schooled his features into blankness once Steven finished and looked up at him. "So uh—"

Brendan raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"I mean, are we just leaving it like this, or…?" Steven asked, waving a hand to indicate the space between them.

Brendan considered his words. "How do you want to leave it?"

"How do _you_ want to leave it?" Steven shot back, and Brendan was starting to realise what a stubborn fucker he was dealing with here. It sent excitement coursing through his veins.

"Offer still stands for you to come over," he tried, careful. "No strings," he added, raising his hands when Steven started to narrow his eyes. "No plan. I won't even make dinner." He smiled, self-deprecating. "We can just…" He didn't know how to put into words what he wanted, if he couldn't have _that_. Talk? Share company? Be together for an evening?

Steven figured it out for him, in his endearingly straightforward way. "Hang out?"

"Yeah." He crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head to the side. "Hang out."

"All right," Steven said after a moment. He didn't look sure, but he didn't look worried either. It was a start. "When?"

"Declan's got something on with his band tomorrow evening. He'll be gone for a few hours." He'd have to bribe Mitzeee into covering for him again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken so much time off work. It was a strange, weightless feeling.

Steven nodded, the hint of a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Text me the address."

"I could pick you up," Brendan offered.

"No." He said it instantly, a flash of something in his eyes. Brendan understood. He wanted an escape plan, a way to get out quickly if things didn't go well. Brendan couldn't say he was happy that Steven still thought that way, but he understood it. "I'll drive myself."

"Okay." He stepped to the side and opened the door. "Tomorrow then."

::: :::

Ste was in a good mood when he arrived back at the unit. He still felt vaguely unsettled by Brendan—he was just so mysterious, and projected so much power, and Ste couldn't figure out why, _why_ Brendan was interested in him. But he'd closed the door on questioning it, and it felt as though they had the chance for a new start now. Without all the bullshit.

He'd argued with Brendan. He hadn't argued with anyone for the longest time, aside from a few short-tempered disagreements with Doug. He'd not had it in him, the motivation to muster up anger, frustration, any kind of genuine emotion other than numb despondency. But Brendan brought it out of him, dug deep and found that heat and passion and tugged it to the surface, somehow twisted Ste into such a knot that it allowed him to _feel_, to really feel.

And it felt good.

So good, in fact, that he didn't even care about Doug's grumpy expression when he walked in on him scrubbing the hob like it had personally offended him.

"Hiya. Sorry I took so long."

"It's fine," Doug said, standing straight and dropping his sponge on the cooker. "How did it go?" Ste could tell by his tone that he was making a concerted effort to sound polite.

"Really well, yeah. He's booked us. Eighty people, all the trimmings." He grinned, shucking off his jacket. "Nice little earner, that."

Doug nodded. It looked reluctant. "For when?"

"May…uh. I can't remember the date."

"Did you write it down?" Doug asked.

"Yeah…shit." Ste laughed at himself. Doug raised an eyebrow at him. "Left the folder there, didn't I?" The folder had a proper professional-sounding name, something about client roster or…something. Ste couldn't remember, and he didn't much care.

Doug tutted. "Ste!"

"What?" said Ste. "Relax. I can just go get it later. It's not a big deal."

"But I needed to check—" He came to a sudden stop, bit his lip.

"Needed to check I didn't fuck it up?" Ste smiled at him, and he knew it looked cold. "Well I didn't. And I said I'd get it later, so stop stressing."

Doug looked at him for a long moment. "That eager to see him again, are you?"

"Actually, yeah," Ste said, still sticking with his newfound urge to speak his mind. "I am."

Doug looked worried. "Ste—"

But Ste had been expecting it. "There's nowt wrong with it, Doug. It might actually be good for me."

"You don't even know this guy," Doug said, but his argument sounded weak and he looked as if he knew it. "What if he's bad news?"

"He's not," Ste said. He felt sure of it. "And if he is…well, I'll deal with it."

Doug didn't look appeased, but he did shut up.

::: :::

It was going to be a busy night. Even for a Monday, Brendan could feel it. It hadn't quite picked up yet—a couple dozen at most—but the weather was dry and he had a promo on and Mitzeee had had some idea about a one-night-only free plus-one to all members.

Brendan was working the bar, distracting himself, routinely getting fed up with Kevin who somehow kept managing to get in his way. During a lull in customers he got a glass of whiskey and checked the news on his phone and leaned against the bar, mind pleasantly empty for once.

Mitzeee came tottering out of the office, dress entirely too short and hair so massive it needed its own solar system. She was scanning the room as she approached him, looking over all the heads, obviously searching for someone.

"Expecting company?" he asked her, taking a sip of his drink.

She poured herself a glass of red. There was a slight shake to her hands that made him curious. "That fella I'm seeing—he's coming here tonight."

Brendan pushed away from the bar and stood up straight. "Is that so."

"No," she said sternly, pointing a finger at him, eyes narrowed. "You're gonna behave. In fact, you're not even gonna talk to him."

"Hmm," he said, looking her over. "What's his name?"

"Michael. And I like this one, Brendan, so just—" She poked his chest, hard. "Stay out of it."

"Hey," he said, rubbing the spot where her nail had dug into his chest. "I've never been anything but polite to all your fellas."

"Really? Really, Brendan? Connor," she said, holding up a finger, "you scared off." She held up a second finger. "Jason you punched. You got Nick in a headlock, and Ben—Ben you locked in the toilet for four hours!"

"They were all dicks," Brendan said reasonably. "At least three of them were cheating on you."

"That's not the point!"

"I did you a favour."

"I don't need any of your favours," she said, scowling at him.

It wasn't like he went out of his way to ruin her love life. But he was protective of her, and men flocked to her—the only problem was she was entirely too beautiful for own good. Men looked at her and saw that gorgeous face, but then they also saw the tan and the short skirts and all that hair, and Brendan didn't want to change her, not at all, but he knew how the male mind worked. Mitzeee was a good-time girl. A bit of fun on the side. Rarely did anyone bother to get to know what lay beneath the mask. No one knew _Anne_. And Mitzeee wasn't serious girlfriend material, marriage material. She was pure male fantasy.

"If you say this guy's decent," he said to her now, "then I believe you."

"Good," she said, then downed the rest of her drink. "Because he's here."

He scanned the bar. "Where—"

"Stay here." She shoved him out of her way, straightened her skirt, painted on a smile. "I'm gonna take him in the office with me. I still have some work to do—"

"If he gets jizz on any bit of furniture—!"

He was abruptly cut off by the arrival of Douglas, who was walking into the bar with a face that meant business. Brendan took a final sip of his whiskey and smiled to himself.

"Douglas," he said, once Douglas had reached the bar.

"It's Doug. I came to pick up the folder Ste left behind."

Brendan had found the folder earlier, tucked it behind the bar for safekeeping. He'd planned on handing it back when he saw Steven tomorrow, but he reached for it now, placed it on the bar in front of Douglas. "You know, you should have more faith in him. He knows what he's doing with these…meetings."

Douglas scowled at him, then flipped open the folder, no doubt examining Steven's work. "That's none of your business."

"Not yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Douglas asked, looking up at him sharply.

"What if I told you I wasn't planning on going anywhere." He smiled, a flash of teeth. "How does that work for you?"

"Seriously, dude," Douglas said to him after a moment of staring at him, his eyes irritatingly unreadable. "What is your obsession with him?"

"That's a strange way to look at it, Douglas. Hmm? A man wants to get to know a fella and suddenly he's obsessed. Why is that?" He leaned one arm on the bar, got closer, until he could see the faint lines of tension around Douglas' mouth. "Do you know how relationships work?"

"Oh is that what you think you've got with Ste, huh? A relationship?" He narrowed his eyes. "You're no one to him."

"Give me time," Brendan said slowly, his voice smooth, refusing to show how Douglas' words stung.

Douglas laughed then, mirthless and bitter. He looked back down at the folder and muttered, "You'll never be able to understand him."

Brendan felt a spike of something in his gut, his mind flashing back to a woman named Gloria, the nurse's uniform. "I didn't know I was dealing with someone so…complex."

"That's just it, _Mr Brady_," Douglas said, erupted almost, looking up at Brendan with fire in his eyes. "You _don't_ know what you're dealing with. Ste isn't some regular guy you can fuck until you get bored. He's…"

A slow, calculating grin spread across Brendan's face, although he didn't feel at all like smiling. "If I didn't know better, Douglas, I'd say you were carrying your own little torch for your friend there." He clipped his teeth together, an audible _click_. "Does he know?"

"There's nothing to know. It's not like that," Douglas said, irritation getting the better of him, words coming out almost on a hiss. His eyes had darkened. "But Ste—he's not the kind of person you mess around." He paused, then softened his voice. "He wouldn't be able to handle it." It was as if he was trying to tell Brendan something without actually saying it.

"How about you stop worrying about my intentions," Brendan said slowly, already tired of this caring best friend act that he could see right through, "and start worrying about your own."

Douglas glared at him. "I'm not gonna let you hurt him. I'm sorry, but I can't. You're no good for him."

"Doesn't seem fair, does it? When you know nothing about me."

"This is nothing to do with being fair," Douglas said, snapping the folder shut and picking it up. "It's about what's best for Ste. You don't _know_ him."

"Like I said, Douglas. Give me time."

"I know what you must think of me right now, but I don't care." He backed away from the bar, shaking his head. "I'm the only one looking out for him. You can just…find a new hobby," he said, before leaving. Getting the last word, the bastard.

It sounded so final, and Brendan gave in to the worry pooling in his chest. Best friends were powerful things—persuasive, coaxing, so familiar and appreciated that everything they did and said meant something. Douglas had power here, power to turn Steven's head, and Brendan couldn't help the concern filling his thoughts now.

He was surprised, therefore, when Steven entered the bar not thirty minutes later, looking cheerful and upbeat, eyes lighting up when he spotted Brendan and came over.

"Hiya." He hitched himself up onto a bar stool. "Left me folder here, didn't I," he said, rolling his eyes at himself and still grinning. He looked so happy to be there, in Brendan's bar, that Brendan couldn't help but return the smile, let himself relax a little. "I'd lose me head if it weren't screwed on."

Brendan huffed a small laugh for the tired joke, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "Uh, Douglas…"

"What about him?" Steven asked, brow furrowed.

"He came by a little while ago and picked it up."

Steven's face shut down, scowl forming, lips pursing. "Did he saw owt?" he asked sharply.

Brendan considered the truth. Considered it, then discarded it. "Can't say I remember anything particularly thrilling. He's a dull one, isn't he?"

"Shut up," Steven said, laughing now, face smoothing out. "He's a good friend, is Doug. Dunno what I'd do without him."

"Hmm." Brendan drummed his fingers against the bar, bit his tongue. "Can I get you a drink while you're here?"

Steven's eyes were twinkling, lit up for him. "Might as well, eh? Got nothing better to do."

"That's the spirit."

He grabbed a bottle of beer for Steven and opened it, then came around to Steven's side, leaned against the bar beside him, angled so he could look him straight in the face, see every tick and smile and quirk of his eyes.

"Thanks," Steven said, taking the bottle from Brendan. He drank a little and then gave a little gasp, wiped the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. Brendan watched, swallowed. "You don't have to stand here with me. I can see you're busy."

The place had filled up some in the past half hour or so, but Brendan wasn't concerned.

"That's why I have staff, Steven."

"Oh yeah?" Steven asked, his tone carrying a little cheek. "What's your job here then, if you're not actually working?"

"I'm just here to make the place look good."

Steven smirked. "Reckon you're overpaid."

"Thanks, darlin'," Brendan said sardonically, clapping Steven on the back.

Steven flinched and hissed, leaned forward and away from the contact.

"What?" said Brendan, alarmed. "Did I—" It couldn't have hurt. Sure, there had been plenty of times when he'd been unaware of his own strength, but his touch to Steven's back just then had been barely more than a hearty tap.

"No, no," Steven said, rolling his shoulders and attempting a smile. His eyes had watered up ever so slightly; if Brendan hadn't been standing so close, he never would have noticed. "Just, uh… sunburn."

"Sunburn." Brendan frowned. "Did you nip over to the Costa del Sol this afternoon? It's been shit here all day."

Steven gave an uneasy laugh, cheeks colouring slightly. He looked away from Brendan and then froze, his whole body going stiff, eyes widening and, Brendan was sure, his breath stopping completely. Confused, Brendan looked in the direction Steven was now staring—the doors leading towards the office and the back rooms.

"What is it?" he asked, looking back at Steven. He hadn't seen anything worth noticing, but all the colour had drained from Steven's face, now ghostly pale and sickly. "Steven."

It took Steven a moment, but eventually he blinked and looked away from the doors, the tension in his body easing slightly. "Nothing," he said. He shot Brendan a weak smile. "Thought—uh. Just thought I saw something, that's all."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Steven swallowed, a thick roll of his throat, and then nodded. "Yeah. It's fine."

"Hey. You okay?" Brendan touched his back, gentle this time, rubbed a little. Steven didn't flinch now, and when he looked at Brendan, that alarm or fear or whatever it was had vanished from his eyes.

"Yep. Fine." He relaxed under Brendan's hand, let himself slump a little in his seat. "But I better get going," he said, taking another healthy gulp of beer before putting the bottle down. "Don't wanna keep ya."

"I happen to like the distraction." Brendan smiled. Now Steven had relaxed again, and now Brendan had had his hand on him successfully for a full minute without any drama, he craved something more. Thought for a moment if he should push it, searched Steven's eyes for anything that might lead to resistance. He saw nothing but warmth staring back at him and his stomach jolted pleasantly. He leaned forward, flicked his gaze to Steven's mouth, made his intention clear. "Can I—?"

Steven licked his lips, eyes glazing over. "Maybe just a quick one."

Brendan would take what he could get. He leaned close and paused, waited, until Steven's hand came up to touch his neck slightly and closed the gap, pressed their lips together. It was chaste, and it was soft, and when Brendan slowly parted his lips a touch, Steven's tongue met his, gentle and warm, hesitant, tasting so good that it took everything Brendan had not to press in deeper, devour him. He closed his lips around the very edge of Steven's bottom lip for a moment, a lingering last kiss, before pulling away, their lips clinging.

Steven looked dazed, opening his eyes slowly. "I could get used to that," he mumbled, cheeks flushed.

Brendan laughed. Brushed his fingers against Steven's jaw. "That's the idea."

He was still thinking about the taste of Steven hours after he left.

::: :::

The following evening, Brendan accidentally got Steven drunk. It hadn't been his plan; in fact, he'd offered Steven all manner of non-alcoholic drinks before Steven had opted for the wine in his fridge. Problem was, Steven had arrived here on an empty stomach ("Hiya!" he'd hollered through the intercom, nearly blasting Brendan's ear off; although he was coming to love the way he said that. _Hiyuurrr_). He hadn't told Brendan he'd not eaten, and Brendan—as per their agreement, thanks to that goddamn Daniel—hadn't made any dinner. And so they'd made it through a whole bottle of wine together before Steven's stomach grumbled loudly enough for Brendan to hear, and the giggle Steven let out brought into focus that his eyes were squiffy, and his cheeks were flushed, and yeah, he was drunk.

Brendan laughed at him. "Lightweight."

"Oi!" Steven nudged him. "It's your fault, this."

They were stood together in the kitchen, where they had been standing for the entire hour Steven had been here so far, leaning against the counters and drinking wine and talking about nothing that drifted into territory one might expect on a date.

Brendan didn't know if this was a date. He didn't know if Steven was here as a friend. Steven had done nothing to show his hand either way. They'd talked about the new wine bar Brendan was thinking of buying, and they talked about Steven's kids coming up to see him next weekend, and Brendan had talked about all the places he had visited when Steven noticed his collection of shot glasses from around the world.

It had all been very pleasant and polite and safe.

But now Steven was drunk, and Brendan prepared himself for change.

"How is it my fault?" he asked now. "You wanted the wine."

"Yeah, but—" Steven's stomach growled again, and they both stood in silence, listening to it, Brendan raising an eyebrow.

"You need some food."

"What have you got?" Steven asked, putting his empty glass on the counter, too close to the edge—Brendan nudged it back a few inches into safety. Then Steven turned and started opening Brendan's cupboards, having a good look around.

"Make yourself at home, Steven," he drawled, lazily sipping his drink and watching Steven have a rummage. "You won't find much."

Steven tutted, moved onto the fridge. "That's no good, is it? You knew you were having company."

"Well according to you and your new friend, me making you dinner was code for 'take your clothes off, Steven'."

Steven giggled and looked over his shoulder at Brendan, face lit by the fridge light. "Say that again."

Brendan smirked. "Take your clothes off, Steven." He made sure to inject an extra bit of growl into his voice.

Steven flashed a grin, tongue caught between his teeth, eyes dancing. "Your voice is pure sex. Anyone ever tell you that before?"

Yes, in so many words, but it sounded better coming from Steven. "Want me to read the phone book to you?"

"Maybe later," Steven said breezily, turning back to the contents of the fridge. Brendan liked Steven drunk, almost as much as he liked him sober.

Steven came away from the fridge carrying eggs and cheese, dumped them on the counter and started muttering about a pan, looking through the bottom cupboards now. "Pour us another glass," he instructed Brendan.

He'd probably had enough, but Brendan wasn't going to tell him what to do. He got a fresh bottle of wine and topped them both up, ready to run for the fire extinguisher as he watched Steven make omelettes.

Turned out alcohol didn't dampen Steven's abilities in the kitchen, and ten minutes later Brendan had a mouthful of hot, delicious omelette, sans catastrophe. The noise he made as he chewed had Steven laughing and looking across at him with twinkling eyes.

"Jesus, you know how to cook," Brendan said.

Unfortunately it was too little, too late: the food did nothing to line Steven's stomach, and by the time they'd finished eating, the last glass of wine had tipped Steven into full-on intoxication.

Brendan had no choice but to sling Steven's arm over his shoulder and half carry him to bed, hoping against hope that Steven wouldn't read anything into this, start thinking that this was all part of a plan.

"You're so hot," Steven said when Brendan tipped him back on the bed. He was clumsily groping the side of Brendan's face, nearly poking him in the eye.

Brendan flashed a grin. "Glad you think so."

"No, I mean like _really_ hot." He let out another drunken giggle, arms falling heavily by his side. "You do funny things to me."

"Good to know," Brendan said, huffing a laugh. He reached for the blanket and tucked it over Steven. "Get some sleep now."

"Wish I could show you," Steven mumbled, sounding more sombre now.

A rush of heat flooded Brendan's chest. "Whenever you're ready, Steven." Then he looked at Steven's wonky eyes and the cheeks flushed through with inebriation. "Well, maybe not right _now_-"

"No." Steven shook his head, eyes drifting shut. "I can't let anyone touch me. Except Doug."

"Douglas? Douglas touches you?"

"Not like that," Steven said, lazily giggling again. "But he's the only one who doesn't make me panic."

"Why do you panic?" Brendan asked, something uncomfortable replacing that heat in his chest. But sleep was already claiming Steven, his face turning into the pillow, lips parting slightly. "Steven."

When no response came, Brendan sighed, brushed his fingers over Steven's temple. "I wouldn't hurt you, Steven," he murmured, because it seemed like an important thing to say, even if Steven couldn't hear him right now.

He watched Steven sleep for a few minutes before quietly leaving the room, his head a jumbled mess of questions.

::: :::

The room was dark, and warm, and Ste let his whole weight sink into the mattress, hugged a pillow to his chest and buried his face in it. Air whispered against his bare arse cheeks, the sweat-damp skin of his back, and he shivered when a large, roughened hand slid up his side and back down, gripped his hip.

"Relax for me, Steven," Brendan murmured from behind him, above him. His breath was hot against Ste's shoulder blades. "I'm gonna make you feel good."

Soft lips pressed against his spine at the base of his neck, drifted lower, an inch at a time, the swipe of a tongue, the brush of a moustache, sensation filling him, tingling across his skin, into his veins.

The weight of Brendan's hard cock ghosted over the back of his thigh and he breathed a sigh, rolled his own hips into the mattress, fingers gripping the pillow tightly.

"Hold still for me now," Brendan said, but he sounded different now, his voice was different.

Something sharp pressed against the back of Ste's shoulder and he froze, waited, tried to lift his head when that sharpness dug into his skin and sliced lower, slowly, agonisingly, skin splitting and pain flooding his senses and Ste didn't like this, didn't like this one bit—

"No—"

He tried to lift his head again, to move, but he couldn't, frozen, limbs stiff and body still and that sharpness burning red-hot down his back, something wet spreading across his skin now—

"Hold still," Brendan said again, but it wasn't Brendan, wasn't his voice.

He couldn't breathe, his skin flaying open and his chest constricted and he wanted to scream but couldn't, wanted to beg but couldn't get enough breath to speak—

"Good boy," said the voice, the voice that wasn't Brendan, and that sharpness dug in deeper, and his skin was splitting wider, and he couldn't move, and he couldn't cry, and he couldn't beg for help—

Ste woke up with a scream caught in his throat, panting and trembling, phantom pain still filling his body. He lay there in the silence, in the dark, for minutes—breathing, calming, blinking back tears.

He needed his pills, only he wasn't at home, wasn't in his own bed. This room was not his own.

Brendan.

The last thing Ste remembered was Brendan's smiling face, his warm eyes. He had no idea how he got into this bed, but a quick check showed him nothing untoward had happened. He was still fully dressed; he felt untouched and clean.

He must have been out-of-his-head wasted, and he grimaced at the realisation, blushed. How fucking embarrassing.

He dreaded to think what Brendan must think of him now.

He climbed out of bed as quietly as he could and tiptoed out of the room. The last thing he needed was to run into Brendan's son. But he encountered no one as he made his way back to the living room, only Brendan, fast asleep on the sofa, a soft white blanket pulled up to his waist. The TV was on quietly, ghostly images flickering across Brendan's face.

Ste grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and crept over to Brendan. After finding the remote and switching off the TV, he gazed down at Brendan, lit now only by the streetlight shining through the window. His face was smooth and relaxed, lips slightly parted, hair in disarray. He was beautiful like this, softer somehow. Ste wanted to kiss him goodbye, his forehead perhaps, or maybe even his lips. But he didn't have the nerve. He ran his fingers lightly through Brendan's hair instead, just once, and touched Brendan's cheek softly before leaving.

He exited the building to find a young, vaguely good-looking man staring in confusion at the intercom pad. His brow was furrowed, and he looked lost.

"Can I help you, mate?" Ste asked him.

The guy looked over. "No names on these numbers," he muttered, pointing his thumb at the pad. "You don't happen to know which one of these is Brendan Brady, do you?"

Ste gave him a more considering look now. "You a friend of his?"

"Yeah." The guy grinned. It looked wolfish. "Yeah, we go way back."

"Right," said Ste. On the one hand, it wasn't his place to give out Brendan's address to random people. On the other hand, Brendan probably wouldn't be best pleased if he found out Ste had left a good friend of his out in the cold. Besides, this guy looked harmless enough. Whatever it was, Brendan probably had it covered. "It's apartment 14. Top floor."

"Thanks, mate," said the guy. "I would've been out here all night."

"Yeah, but he's asleep right now, so…"

"S'all right." He grinned again. "He'll get up for me."

Ste nodded. Something about this guy niggled at him. "Well I'm Ste anyway," he said, holding out his hand. "I'll probably be seeing you again. Any friend of Brendan and all that."

"Pleasure." The guy shook his hand. His grip was firm. "I'm Vinnie."


End file.
